The Earth Stood Still
by Salome Weil
Summary: The human race has been annhilated and only Peter, Claire and Sylar still live. Peter and Claire have decided to attempt repopulation and they need Sylar's help, but he's not interested. In the face of Peter's reluctance can Claire convince him to agree?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Heroes franchise, everything belongs to NBC and some other people and I make no money off this fic.**

**AN: So here's the start of a fic that was prompted by a kink meme on a Sylaire comm. It'll probs be a few chapters long. **

**Prompt: Following an apocalypse, Peter, Claire and Sylar are the last humans left on Earth. Peter and Claire reluctantly decide to start repopulating the human race together, but are well aware that their incestuous offspring will have too small a gene pool to create a thriving population. They need Sylar - not only for his own non-Petrelli DNA but for the DNA of everyone he touched, potentially available for reproduction thanks to his shapeshifting ability. Sylar wants nothing to do with it, so they have to find a way to convince him. I'd like angst, pregnancies, sex for mating and um, anything else you want to throw in.**

* * *

_Nearly every man who develops an idea works at it up to the point where it looks impossible, and then gets discouraged. _

_That's not the place to become discouraged._

_-Thomas Edison_

* * *

"Did you ask him?"

Sylar jerked his head around, for once in the eons they'd known him, his brows raised in clear surprise.

"You really were telling the truth," he said somewhat breathlessly and his outstretched hand relaxed. Peter slumped to the floor and massaged his neck, though the bruises were already fading. Claire shrieked and pushed the door open further, rushing into the room past Sylar to kneel by Peter.

"What did you do to him?" she yelled, turning on Sylar with a ferocity he found…intriguing.

"It's alright, Claire. You know how Sylar is." Peter waved off her ministrations and climbed to his feet, Claire standing beside him protectively. Fiercely.

One of Sylar's brows quirked up.

"Nice, Peter. The hero letting his pregnant niece protect him. So, you two are serious, then? It looks to me like you've gotten a headstart on the plan. And you waited until now to seek me out because…"

"We figured you'd be less likely to kill either of us outright if I was already eight months pregnant," Claire supplied coolly, arching an eyebrow of her own at the once mighty serial killer.

The man was a veritable hermit now. Since the destruction of the human race his hunger had eventually turned on itself and presented in…bizarre ways. Like where they were now: the New York Public Library. When his hunger had been unable to increase his knowledge and abilities through human targets, he'd had to get creative in his thirst for power. He'd earned several degrees since humanity's downward spiral had begun and he'd taken to reading voraciously in the years since its final demise. He spoke fifteen languages fluently- thirteen of which were now defunct (Claire and Peter still had a working knowledge of Spanish, though they rarely spoke it). He was well versed in three martial arts forms, had studied fencing and origami, and had perfected his art of sword-smithing. Claire wondered if he wasn't sentimental about Hiro, sometimes- the one power he'd never acquired. He was an accomplished painter- although she was sure Isaac's ability meant he cheated sometimes. And he'd once worked as a sous-chef.

Of course, she and Peter hadn't exactly slacked off in the two decades since the total downfall of humanity, either. She'd made it her personal mission to locate every cookie recipe on the planet- she planned on having a large family, after all- and she'd also taken an interest in architecture, agriculture and marine biology. Peter had started writing an account of the end of civilization as they'd known it and he'd developed quite an eye for ancient history as well. He claimed it was important to know as much as possible about how previous civilizations had grown and developed if they were going to seriously attempt repopulation.

So, after a decade of searching for other survivors and finding none, they'd decided to get serious. They'd spent the second half of the intervening twenty years planning their repopulation. Then they'd finally settled down into penthouse apartment they'd built for themselves above the old hospital they were using as headquarters and gotten to the business at hand: babies.

To say Sylar had never been a part of the plan would have been a complete lie. Sylar had always been a part of the plan. They'd just never expected him to turn into…this. A bizarre combination of the Sylar they'd known and the Gabriel they wished they'd known. Bookish and obsessive, but anything but shrinking. Moody and aggressive, but hardly the out rightly violent man they'd come to expect. After all, he'd given Peter a whole ten minutes to talk before he'd begun to slowly kill the other man.

Not that Claire was grateful, or anything.

Sylar smiled some, to both their surprise. "I suppose that's fair. No, I don't particularly find infanticide appealing. Hm. I hadn't realized I had that much humanity left in me, but you did. That's strange. How did you know I'd react that way?"

Claire grit her teeth. "We didn't. We were just hoping."

"Interesting," he murmured. "Well, you're not lying. I suppose I should be flattered that you still fear me so much."

"Oh, don't feel obligated on our account," Claire grumbled at him. "Come on, Peter, this was a dumb idea. Let's go."

Claire headed for the door and was halfway out before she realized Peter wasn't behind her. She turned to find him still standing there, eyeing Sylar. Sylar, on the other hand had turned back to his cataloguing.

"Peter?" she asked and her once uncle, now reluctant lover, held up a hand.

"Just a minute. Sylar, you're just going to let us go?"

Sylar sighed and looked up at Peter, pinching the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration.

"You'd rather I killed you? Held you hostage? What would be the point of that? You're clearly going to keep doing whatever it is you plan on doing- shacking up with your-" here he wrinkled his nose, "_niece_. Making babies. As long as you promise to leave me alone, I'll do the same for you."

"You're serious."

"Peter!" Claire stamped her foot. "Can we go already?"

"Hold on- Sylar, we need your help. We can't repopulate the planet on our own."

"You already tried to put that one over on me. I'm not interested."

"You don't have to have anything to do with the children if you don't want- just let us use your DNA and-"

"The DNA of all those I can shift into? Don't be ridiculous. That would be even yuckier than what you two are up to."

Claire flushed. "Look, you think I wanted to shag my uncle? We figured it was our civic duty, you big-"

"I wasn't talking to you, princess," Sylar replied evenly and Claire suddenly found she couldn't speak. She settled for glaring at him. He smirked. "And don't lie, Claire, it's rude. Of course you wanted to screw him. He's your hero, isn't he? So nice of him, too, considering he didn't want to-"

"What, did you pick up mind-reading or something?" Peter retorted, his own cheeks flushed. Claire's eyes snapped to his and there was an apology in them.

"Oh, it's not that he doesn't find you attractive, Claire," Sylar filled in. "It's just that over-riding sense of honor and do-gooding. He can't stand the less moral side of what you've done."

"So you think our child is some kind of abomination, is that it?" Claire burst out, her ability to speak suddenly returned. She bit her lip in frustration and felt tears rise to her eyes. Peter immediately shook his head.

"Claire, no-"

"Didn't you wonder why he was so desperate to seek me out?" Sylar interjected, turning to face her. "Why he wanted another man in on the action? Why it was so hard to convince him to take your ability and keep you company all these years? Oh, don't cry, Claire. I'm sure he'll come around in another century or two."

"Shut up, Sylar! This is exactly what I was afraid of- run, Claire."

Claire ignored Peter and stared at Sylar, who returned her gaze with apathy.

"Is it all true?" she breathed, blinking back her tears. She wouldn't give Sylar that satisfaction. Not after she'd worked so hard to find some semblance of happiness in this post-apocalyptic horror-fest of loneliness and memories.

"What do you think, princess?"

She sniffed and tossed her hair. "Fine. I can live with all that. But-"

"Claire…" Peter groaned, and took a step forward. Sylar halted his movements.

"Let the lady speak. Go ahead, Claire. You were saying?"

"Join us. Make up for your wretched existence. Make up for _our _apparentlywretched existence."

Sylar laughed and it wasn't the terrible sound she'd once feared. He sounded genuinely amused at her request. Her brow wrinkled in thought as she stared at the man she'd once hated passionately.

"What's so funny?" she dared ask and he stopped laughing and wiped his eyes.

"Oh, Claire. Don't you see the irony of the situation? You're practically begging me- the man you vowed to hunt the rest of your life- to _sleep _with you so you can have my children because your personal hero is too disgusted at what he's already done to sleep with you again- it's too much, really. Give me a minute." He burst into a fresh round of laughter and Claire stepped forward, spurred on by some outside force. Before either Peter or Sylar could react, she'd landed a resounding slap across Sylar's face. His laughter stopped short and he narrowed his eyes. One hand shot out and she found herself being lifted and slammed back against a wall. Peter cried out, but Claire just grit her teeth and grinned at Sylar maniacally.

"There's the serial killer I loathe so well," she ground out. Sylar started to curl the fingers of his raised hand and she felt her airway begin to close off. Then the unthinkable happened.

Her water broke.

"What the hell-" Sylar managed to say before Peter shoved him out of the ran to Claire, pulling her from the wall and cradling her against him. She struggled in his arms.

"It was just my water- I can walk, Peter, for God's sake, I'm not an invalid-"

"We have to get you back to the hospital. It's too early-"

"By three weeks- that's nothing, we have everything we need-"

"Oh, for the love of Christ," Sylar interrupted. "Just go and leave me in peace. You're going to contaminate my library."

Peter turned on him, a fierce expression on his face. "This is your damned fault," he growled. "How dare you treat her that way, put her under that kind of stress-"

Claire doubled over in his arms and groaned.

"How long have you been having contractions?" Peter demanded of her.

"This morning," she admitted. "I lost my plug last night. I'm sorry, Peter, I didn't think anything would happen-"

Peter looked to Sylar again. "I can't get her back to the hospital fast enough. You're going to have to help us unless you want her to give birth amidst your precious books."

"Oh, for the love of- fine," Sylar bit off. "Where are you located?"

"Odessa," Peter replied and turned back to Claire.

"How poignant," Sylar muttered and walked over to them, shoving Peter out of the way. "I can take her, but not you," he said, getting a hold of Claire and hefting her petite, but bulging, form in his arms.

"Damn it, Sylar," Peter exclaimed. "I have to be there. You don't know what you're doing-"

"Please, it's not as if you want to be there for the birth of your demon spawn. Besides, I have IA. She'll be fine. Unless you want me to leave her and come back for you. It's not as if I _want_ to help her give birth."

Peter looked pained and as Claire groaned again and let out a strangled cry, he finally nodded.

"Go. I'll be in the car."

"Hey, one good thing about being the last humans," Sylar added as he made his way out the door.

"What's that?" Peter asked grudgingly.

"No speed limits, lover boy." And then he was gone, a still moaning and protesting Claire nestled against his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Heroes, okay?**

**AN: So, chapter two of my attempt to fill the prompt. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Are you comfortable? Do you want one of those- what are they called?"

"Epidural? No-" Claire grunted again and then paused, gasping for breath. "No- it's too late for one." When the contraction had fully passed, she laid back and stared at him from beneath heavily lidded eyes.

"What?" he asked as he perched between her raised feet, watching her privates intensely.

"Why do you even care enough to ask?" she murmured, just as another contraction began to spill over her. Sylar got her through this one as well, offering quiet comments and wiping away blood.

He looked up at her face long enough to note how red it was, how sweat was pouring off her brow. He was strangely turned on by the sight, although one look at her the sight between her legs killed any desire.

"I don't," he replied. "I'm just trying to make sure I don't get on your nerves too much."

"God, I wish you would leave and go get Peter," she hissed as the last of the sharp pains subsided.

"And risk another eternal vendetta by a hell-bent Petrelli? No, thanks. It was bad enough, waiting for you to get over yours."

"Oh, thanks for noticing that I had other things to worry about," she sniped as another contraction hit. She screamed this time and Sylar looked up at her again. One of his eyebrows twitched. He wondered if it was concern. The thing was, he hadn't felt that particular emotion in so long that he wasn't quite sure what it felt like, anymore.

He suddenly wished, for the first time in his life, that Peter Petrelli were there. He hated the bastard, but it would have saved him from having to hear screams drawn from Claire Bennett's mouth by someone other than himself. In fact, the very sound was causing a twinge of something in his subconscious… He'd tried very hard over the last few years to appease his hunger with something other than human beings; but to have this living, breathing, _screaming_ reminder right in front of him, yelling at him…

Needless to say, he _was_ concerned. Just not necessarily about her.

"Sylar, are you listenting to me? Oh, God-" She screamed again and he jerked his head up.

"What?" he grit out.

"Don't you have some kind of ability that could help? Something? Anything?"

"I really try not to use my abilities anymore if I don't have to, Claire," he responded.

"You just- _ungh_- used one- oh my GOD- to get me here! Sylar!"

One of her hands shot between her legs and her fingers snagged his hair. She yanked hard and he howled.

"You know, I thought you couldn't even feel pain anymore," he yelped as she continued to tug.

"You know what? Being pregnant fixed that, you son of a bitch! Yeah, seriously, don't be- lieve- oh, OH!"

Sylar ripped her hand from his hair and put his hands on her legs. "You're crowning, Claire. Just a little more-"

"Shut up! Don't you talk to me about- what? Really?" She gasped for breath and paused in her mad ranting to stare at him. Tears were streaming from her eyes from her efforts and now the only spots of color in her face were in her cheeks. Sylar's eyebrow twitched again.

One of her hands reached for his hair again and he intercepted it with one of his own. She gripped it tightly.

"Sylar, I can't do this- where's Peter? Get me Peter, please." Her voice had dropped to a whisper and she was looking as terrified as she had all those decades ago, when he'd come for her.

"He can't be here, Claire. If I leave now this baby is going to come without anyone here."

"But he's the father," she cried. "He should be here- he should _want _to be here!" She was crying in earnest now and another contraction- one of the last, if he had anything to say about- made her throw her head back. She grunted in pain and pushed hard. "Make it stop, Sylar, please," she begged and he squeezed her hand before letting go.

"I can't. Here it comes. One more push, Claire."

Claire screamed one last time and then there it was, a tiny, wriggling, red worm in his hands with arms and legs and a mouth that wasn't opening. He quickly sucked the excess blood and mucus from its nose and wiped its face and finally, desperately, it took a breath and began howling. Claire was still crying over the din now coming from the baby and Sylar looked over at her as he continued to wipe the screaming brat down. She wasn't looking at him, or the child. Wasn't talking. Just crying.

"Claire?" he questioned as he finished wrapping the tiny bundle up. She didn't answer. "Claire, don't go catatonic on me now. Not after that. I could go get Peter now, if you think you could manage for a half hour."

Still no response. Sylar looked down at the wriggling child in his hands and then back at Claire.

"Do you want to hold her?" he finally asked. He felt completely out of his element. Even his more normal self, Gabriel, had never been good at interacting with people. A hermit-like Sylar was even worse at it. Or at least, he wanted to be worse at it.

Still, that question finally roused her somewhat. She looked in their direction.

"It's a girl?" she asked. "Definitely?"

"Didn't you know?" he responded and placed the tiny bundle in Claire's suddenly outstretched arms.

"No, we weren't certain. Hey, there," she murmured to the little face nestled on her breast. "Hi."

Sylar wrinkled his brow. "I guess I should get you cleaned up. There's what, the afterbirth to deal with?"

Claire responded with a shrug and continued to stare down at her baby. Sylar felt his eyebrow twitch again. He sighed. It was going to be a long eternity.

* * *

Both of them forgot to send him back out for Peter. Sylar tried to pretend it was because he was too busy dealing with feelings he'd never realized he could feel before; and Claire argued she didn't forget. She was just so pissed off at Peter for how he felt about the entire ordeal that she could care less when he got there. Sylar was proving to be a nice substitute, anyway.

As nice as a hermit with murderous tendencies could be, at least.

"I'm going to name her Sandra," she said once Sylar finally finished cleaning up the room and getting her back to her own nice, comfy recovery suite.

"That's nice," Sylar muttered, eyeing the bundle distastefully. "Naming your incestuous daughter after your doormat adoptive mother. How sweet."

"Do you have to ruin everything you touch or is that just a preference of yours?" Claire retorted. She turned to her daughter and cooed at her. "Ignore the big mean man. He's just grumpy because he doesn't get to slice your head open. That's right. Who's my big girl?"

Sylar put a hand to his head and closed his eyes.

"I don't kill people anymore," he murmured. "Or at least, I don't think I do. Can you see why I don't really think repopulating the earth is a good idea? Especially not if they're my children?"

"Is that your only objection?" Claire replied, turning her head on the pillows to look at him properly.

He looked up at her in confusion. "It's not exactly a small objection," he responded. "You were one of my victims. You should know. Do you really want to subject your children to the possibility that my hunger will turn against them?"

"I always thought that was a load of crap," she admitted, looking at baby Sandra again. "That you were just trying to make an excuse for being a horrible person. So there's really a hunger?"

"Oh my God," Sylar muttered and covered his face with his hands. "Where the hell is Peter."

"No, don't go get him yet," Claire said, her voice suddenly panicked. "Please."

Sylar looked up at her and his brow twitched for the twentieth time. He wondered if he was developing a tic.

"Why not? He's your hero, isn't he?" His voice was snide and Claire's eyes flickered from him to the baby and back.

"I just…did you really mean those things you said? About how he felt?"

"Claire…"

"It's just that, I wasn't real keen on the whole shag my uncle thing, either, but once I got pregnant, things changed and my nerves fixed themselves and I thought, you know, if this little life growing inside me was special enough to finally fix what you broke, well, then it must be alright, you know? So to think that he…that he…" Her voice trailed off and she looked back down at her baby, whose eyes were shut in sweet sleep. There was a dusting of light blond hair lying across her forehead and one tiny, perfect fist was curled up against her mother's breast.

Sylar sighed.

"He doesn't hate you or the baby, Claire. He hates himself. He wishes he weren't your uncle, so he could give you what he thinks you really need."

Claire sniffed. "What's he think I really need?"

"Me," Sylar replied matter-of-factly, shrugging as he said it. "Trust me, I disagree with him too, but there it is. You wanted the truth."

"But he's right," Claire murmured. "About our children. About the repopulation. We can't do it with just our DNA."

"Didn't Suresh teach you idiots anything?" Sylar replied. "Human DNA is mutating and evolving all the time. Eventually it would adapt to the new order."

"You mean our incestuous ways?"

"Ouch, alright, so that was low of me. Look, why not try the donor clinics this country had in abundance?" Sylar said.

"We did," Claire responded. "We checked there first, believe me," she snorted. Sylar didn't know if he should feel relieved or insulted. "But they were all defunct. Remember when the government first realized we were going to have a population crisis? Yeah, you might have already holed up by then, but they started collecting all the of the materials, rounding up donors, shutting down the clinics. Anything they didn't confiscate for government use they burned. There was nothing left in the private sector by the time we got to them and the government had unwittingly contaminated all their samples."

"So you were stuck with me."

"Believe me, it's not exactly our first choice, okay?" Claire looked back at her baby girl, who was beginning to stir from all the commotion, and tried to rock her some. Her face was screwed up and she looked like she might cry- Claire, not the baby.

Sylar really didn't want to deal with a crying Claire again.

"Hey, hey," Sylar said, approaching the bed. He tentatively reached out to her and she didn't shy away, just kept rocking her baby, who settled back down. "Don't cry, Claire. For the record, I wish I weren't a choice, too. I've had plenty of time to think in the last-"

"Don't give me that," she replied and her voice was bitter. "That you're suddenly sorry for everything you've done. I'll never buy it. You're not Peter."

His hand tightened on her shoulder for a minute and his mouth became a hard line.

"Yes, and aren't you glad for that," he said softly. Then his hand relaxed. "And I'm not really sorry, you're right. But I do regret I hurt you. There were other people I could have taken that ability from. Could have killed them outright, too. But you, I should have-"

She stiffened and finally looked up at him. He was still struggling to find the right words to express himself. He'd spent so long among his silent books now that he'd nearly forgotten how it felt to talk to other people.

"You don't have to do this," she murmured. "It's late and I'm tired. I should probably rest now."

Sylar jerked his hand back in surprise. "I-" His mouth worked, but no sound came out for a moment and Claire looked back at Sandra.

"Can you take her? We do have a nursery set up, if you'd rather put her down."

"I'll wait until Peter gets here."

"I'm tired, Sylar," she ground out, her patience wearing thin. "I don't want to play games. I trust you won't slice her head open while I'm sleeping, if that's what you're afraid of."

"I-"

"Here, take her- take her or I'm going to drop her- Sylar-"

There was a silent power struggle while Claire held the sleeping baby out to him and he attempted to push her back at her mother. Finally, somehow, she ended up perched in his two large hands again, her tiny head nestled in one of his palms. Claire smiled at them a brief moment, then laid her head back and pretended to be asleep. In another two minutes, she really was asleep. Sylar glared at her sleeping, peaceful form and then down at baby Sandra.

The baby made a few smacking noises with her lips, turned her head and body some within the blanket, and settled back down into sleep, cradled in his hands.

Sylar felt something in his chest twitch that time, hard and high beneath his throat and he swallowed against the feeling. His fingers curled about her a little more and slowly, so as not to disturb her, he sat down in the nearby rocking chair.

Well. Looked like someone had to care about the worthless little demon spawn. He could see her life stretching out before her now- born so she could help populate the earth, the result of incest forced into more incest because they simply didn't have any other options…but he could help. He could help make sure she at least didn't make it with her own brother. He could ease the gap some…and look after her in the process. Oh, sure, Claire loved her and Peter would love her, in his own way; but the other man would be beating himself up so badly for his actions the rest of eternity that he'd be too busy with himself to give the little one the time and attention she needed. Pity parties were only unnecessary when a child's life was at stake.

But he could help.

The feeling returned to his chest and spread up to his throat and cheeks. It burned, but it felt like tears and redemption. A feeling he hadn't known in centuries- and one that had failed miserably the last time he'd experienced it.

He didn't truly think redemption for himself was possible, but here, sitting in the semi-darkness, holding Claire's daughter, he thought maybe anything could happen. Maybe it already had.


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own Heroes. Lalalaaaa!**

**AN: I really love how this chapter turned out. I was worried Sylar was a bit OOC for a while there, but he redeemed himself nicely.**

* * *

A month later, Sylar's resolve to help on the night of Sandra's birth had lessened a great deal. Especially once Peter pointed out that it only made sense for Sylar to be the one to copulate- he had such a pleasant way of putting things- with Sandra when she was old enough.

"I am not having sex with anyone besides Claire," he growled. "That's final."

"So you're going to force Sandy to have sex with her own half brother, is that it?"

"Look, you knew incest was going to happen the minute you decided to repopulate," Sylar replied, stalking away from the other man. "Good God, I never should have left the library."

"Sylar, we're grateful to you, we are, but you can't decide-"

Peter found his airway suddenly closed off and he was slammed back against a wall. Sylar turned around slowly and focused his most threatening stare on the other man.

"Unless you want me to kill you and leave Claire and your precious demon spawn with only me for company, you'll stop talking now."

Peter lifted his hands in a show of surrender and Sylar let him fall back to the ground.

"You're still a mean bastard, you know that?" Peter wheezed as he stood up again. Sylar smiled.

"Your fault. If you'd left me alone I could have managed myself just fine. But you? No, you couldn't live with what you'd done so you had to seek me out. Claire is desperately in love with you, didn't you know that? But you couldn't just accept it and move on with your pathetic, damned life. You're still thinking of everyone else's feelings and morals, despite the fact that _there's no one left_."

Peter looked away, his cheeks burning with shame or anger, he couldn't tell which. Both were over-riding emotions with him these days.

"You're right," he whispered. "I hate myself. But not as much as I still hate you. Even after everything you did, we still need you."

"You idiot, you didn't have to repopulate at all," Sylar responded, stalking towards him. He lifted Peter by his shirt front and shook the other man. "You could have just stayed like this, with her, in your sick little paradise and left me the hell alone! Instead, you chose to bring an innocent creature- another innocent creature, I should say- into the mix and this is where it's gotten you. This is all your own damned fault, you son of a bitch. Don't you dare try to blame me for your problems." He shook Peter again, but the other man only glared at him balefully. "So when I tell you what I will and won't do, you better damn well listen and accept it, okay, _Pete_?" Sylar allowed his features to shift into Nathans, dragging the other man's memory from the depths with a small effort. Peter's face changed into something between loathing and sorrow and Sylar dropped him to the ground again. Nathan's voice flowed out of him, his own words ringing in the hall as he towered over Peter.

"Take a good look, Peter, and remember that I can turn this whole thing against you with a single thought. Would you rather your demon spawn made it with her half brother? Or with her uncle? Because that's what will happen if you push me. I swear to the God you used to believe in. Think about it, _Pete_." Then he turned and stalked away.

Claire heard every word, of course. He'd known she was standing in an open doorway a few feet down, listening. Arms curled protectively around her baby. He paused and looked at her and she stepped back into the room, her eyes an invitation. He looked back over his shoulder at Peter, who was staring out a window at the end of the hall, shoulders hunched. Maybe the crazy bastard would jump. Would serve him right. Shrugging, he walked past Claire and into the room. Since the birth, she'd moved into her own suite in the so-called penthouse floor of the hospital. Peter had looked hurt when she hadn't wanted to share his bed, but he hadn't protested any. He really was a crazy bastard, Sylar reflected as he glanced around the room. In love with Claire, wanting to hold her and love her, but too afraid of his own morals to tell her so. The whole situation was like a Charles Dickens novel from hell. Or…Victor Hugo…no, he had it. It was _so_ Emily Bronte. Dumb bitch. Wouldn't have known real love if it had bit her in the ass.

"Don't ever do that again," Claire said, interrupting his thoughts. He turned around and looked at her, smirked. She glared at him. "I'm serious, Sylar. And get my father's face off _now_."

"Could be worse. I could have worn Noah. Or Arthur."

"Take him off, Sylar."

Sylar shrugged and turned away from her, but shifted back anyway. He'd always disliked Nathan anyway. The man had some unfortunately confused feelings about his family that Sylar had never really understood. His was an uncomfortable façade.

"I was serious, too," he said over his shoulder. "I won't have sex with your children. It's disgusting."

"So now you decide to grow some morals?" Claire snapped, but her tone wasn't really angry. He could hear that much. He smiled some.

"I wouldn't call them morals, Claire. But being around you two has certainly awakened some latent tendencies."

"Well you can stop torturing Peter or you won't be having sex with anyone, let alone me."

"Isn't that sweet. The noble Juliet coming to the rescue of her impotent Romeo in the face of cruel, besotted Paris."

"Did you even actually read that play?" Claire retorted, raising a defiant brow at him as she continued to rock her baby girl in her arms. "Look, that's not the point."

"No, the point is that if you threaten to cut me off when we haven't even had sex yet, that's fine with me. I didn't want any part of this damned mess in the first place. I can go back to New York, no problem, princess."

Claire flinched and looked down at Sandra, hiding her face from him. He heard a soft sigh issue from her lips and tilted his head some, trying to look at her. She turned away and made a show of putting Sandra in her crib. Sylar reached out a hand to spin her around, force her to look at him, but she spoke in quiet tones before his hand reached her shoulder.

"Don't touch me."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, don't touch me," she repeated, her voice low and quavering. "Go back to New York then, if that's what you want. Leave us alone in our personal hell, trying to repopulate the planet with retards and cripples and, and-" She burst into tears and leaned over the crib, burying her face in her hands. Sylar sighed and clapped a hand to his face. Sweet Jesus.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked. "Post partum? Is that the problem here?"

"How dare you!" she shrieked, rounding on him. "You have no idea what it was like to come to terms with all this! To agree that we should do _something_. We can't clean up this mess humanity left the earth in on our own. We need help to do that. Peter and I can't single-handedly take care of the ecosystem, you son of a bitch! So when he suggested…" her voice trailed off for a moment and she shook her head, tears still streaming down her face. "Yes, part of me wanted to- I loved him, once. But he's still my uncle. Just because I'm a girl with needs doesn't mean I didn't have the same reservations he had! God, I hate you!"

She lifted a hand to slap him and he caught it this time and held it firmly…and used an ability he'd deliberately ignored, for a long time. Emotions and feelings washed over him- things that didn't come across with a simple mind reading. Love, disgust, trust. Then images: the first time she'd tentatively brought her hand to Peter's chest, or lifted his shirt and placed a gentle, chaste kiss in the hollow of his throat, so unsure of what she should be doing. The simultaneous revulsion and desire she'd felt as Peter had kissed her open palm and sucked her slim fingers into his mouth, one by one…

Claire made a strangled noise and Sylar opened his eyes to find he'd done the same thing. He was sensually running his tongue between her fingers even now, but he froze as he met Claire's eyes.

"Get your mind out of my head now," she whispered, but her eyes were dark with desire.

"I'm not in your head," he responded and deliberately placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

She swallowed hard and tried to pull her hand away, but he grasped it tighter.

"I thought you just wanted to go back to New York and your precious books," she gasped and pulled on her hand again.

"Princess, I'm free to change my mind. And for the record, you and Peter did some very naughty things."

Claire's eyes filled with tears again and she was in Sylar's arms in an instant, her face pressed against his shoulder while he rubbed his hands across her back in soothing motions.

"I wasn't censuring you, Claire, just making an observation. We both know I'm shitty at dealing with people, let alone Petrellis."

"What, now you're comforting me? Ugh, get off-"

"Claire, Claire," he hushed her. "Just shut up and let me hold you for a minute. No strings attached. I won't use that ability again if you don't want me to."

"Really?" She sniffed and turned her head some, tried to look up at him. One of his hands came up and stroked her hair gently.

"Really. I was just…trying to see how you felt. But it's dangerous for me to use the abilities too much. It might awaken something better left asleep. Being around you two has made me sloppy."

"Why? We make you that angry?"

"Peter does."

"But not me?"

"You stopped making me angry a long time ago, Claire," Sylar replied softly and kissed the top of her head. She squirmed some and he let her go reluctantly.

"So what? You were serious about all that forgiveness and first first lady crap? Building bridges?"

He smirked. "No, I was just fucking with you about that. And what a fine memory you have, by the way. You should be commended."

"Then what do you mean?" she replied, wiping her cheeks and daubing at her eyes. She turned away from him to gaze down at her daughter. Her shoulders were trembling again from the effort of holding back tears. He really wished she would stop crying all the time. It was bad for his image.

Not that there was anyone left to have an image for.

"It was pointless to hate you, Claire. Sure, the constantly being hunted thing got annoying, but after a while you…you were my touchstone. Even Peter stopped wanted to hunt me down. And then when the downfall of humanity became an inevitability and you finally left me alone, well. Your standard line came back to haunt me."

He waited for her to supply the words, or at least ask him what he meant, but she said nothing. He sighed.

"You always said we were nothing alike, no matter how often I pointed out the similarities, or how many times you proved the point by being a hardened bitch. I spent a long time trying to figure out why you consistently pulled away from the comparison- how you pulled away from it."

"And did you figure it out?"

"I did. It took nearly a decade, but I managed to decode that little quirk of logic that kept you away from me." He paused triumphantly only to have her turn a baleful eye upon him.

"Well?"

"You're very bad for my ego, Claire."

"I thought you didn't care what I think about you," she shot back.

"Touché. Yes, well, I suppose that's fair."

"Are you going to get on with it or not? I don't have all day," Claire snapped at him and he chuckled. "You know what I mean!" she hissed.

"I do know what you mean. Love, Claire. You always had love to draw you back from the edge of what I became. I never had that luxury, never even knew what I was missing, until you came along."

She wrinkled her nose. "Are you trying to tell me you honestly think that you're in love with me? Give me a break, Sylar-"

"I'm doing no such thing!" he roared, finally losing his temper. He grabbed her arms and shook her hard. Sandra woke up and began crying.

"Oh for God's sake, put me down!" Claire muttered. "Look what you've done-"

"No, you look at what you've done," Sylar whispered, bending over her, bringing his face inches from hers.

"What?" Claire asked breathlessly. "Sylar, the baby- you're hurting me-"

"How can you even think I could imagine myself in love with you, when I don't even know what it is?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "When I don't even know what it feels like?"

"Sylar-"

"Claire, I may know now what grounds you, but I have no idea how you make it work. All I know of it is what I read in books, saw in paintings, on film. And thanks to my own selfish needs, taking your power, living forever…I'll spend an eternity in my darkness, watching the one person I might spend it with running on a different plane of existence entirely. _Never_ knowing."

"Sylar," Claire breathed again, watching his face with wide eyes. Sandra continued to cry behind them, but Claire's blood was rushing in her ears, blotting out all sound. Slowly, so as not to startle him, she lifted her hands and placed them gently on either side of Sylar's face. She thought maybe those were tears she saw glistening in his dark orbs, but she couldn't be sure.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for me," he responded with a shuddering sigh. "Pitying me." His nostrils were flaring with some strong emotion. Was he actually nervous about having revealed so much of himself to her?

Claire shook her head and stood on tiptoe, gently tugging his face closer to hers.

"No," she said. "I'm just sorry."

Then she kissed him.


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own Heroes and I don't make any money off this fic. **

* * *

Her kiss was gentle and sweet and Sylar suddenly felt sure that if he wasn't careful he was going to eat her alive. It spread a slow heat through his lower regions and he knew, logically, that if he did want to have sex with her now that would be alright…probably. At least, she was already healed from the birth and her body had turned itself back into her perky sixteen year old self, except for her swollen breasts. Fortunately for them, it didn't get that far because just as he was deciding to give into the demands of her tongue, Peter's voice sounded from the open doorway.

"I heard Sandy crying, is everything…" It trailed off as he took in the scene- crying baby in the crib, Claire holding Sylar's face to hers as they kissed.

Claire practically jumped away from Sylar and stared at Peter for one dreadful moment before she turned to the crib.

"I have her, Peter. Sylar and I were just…talking."

"No, I… Yeah, I saw that," Peter finished lamely and brushed a hand through his hair. He gave a haunted sigh, but his eyes were relieved. Sylar's narrowed as he watched the other man. He tilted his head. The man was up to something. There was more to his seeking out Sylar than repopulation.

Claire turned towards them as she nestled Sandra in her arms and drew her shirt over one of her breasts. The baby's small mouth latched onto her nipple almost immediately and a quiet sucking noise filled the room.

Sylar found the entire thing incredibly erotic and he was the first to leave. He felt strange enough about the kiss with Claire. Yes, he'd sort of hoped one day that she might come to think of him as a companion, but this…the entire thing was so surreal and he suddenly longed for his books again. He looked at Peter and saw the man's eyes were trained on the touching scene of mother feeding daughter. He snorted softly.

"I was just leaving. Why don't you two bond…or whatever disgusting activity it is you do best. I'll be in the lab."

Claire steadfastly ignored him, though her cheeks did turn pink. But Peter reached out a hand to him as he passed the other man.

"Sylar, you should stay, I can-"

"You're not the genius with IA," Sylar replied, shaking him off. "I'm the only one with enough know how to attempt the experiments. Stay here. Play house. There will be plenty of time for Claire and I-" he sneered for good measure, "to build a relationship. And if I work extra hard now, maybe I won't have to even bother. Good night."

He left the two and stalked out the door and down the hall. Since Peter had begun harassing him about sleeping with the baby (when she was _old enough_, Peter liked to stress), Sylar had thrown himself into genetic research and artificial reproduction. Cloning, DNA, anything that might spare him the horror of being used as a sex slave (he was special, damn it, not a prostitute). Of course, neither Peter nor Claire had the know how to work the machinery- or even begin building the necessary lab, so he'd had to start from the ground up. And so far, he hadn't really gotten anywhere with it. But he was at least _trying_, which was more than he could say for Peter, the horny bastard.

But even as he settled down at his new work station for more experiments with his own cells; the feel of Claire's lips on his, the sight of the baby at her breast, stayed with him; and he found the images impossible to shake.

* * *

Peter nodded at Sylar, but his eyes didn't leave Claire's figure. Aside from the fact that he was basically trying to groom the other man to take his place by Claire's side, he found the scene touching. The two of them, trying to take care of Claire…even if he did hate the man. And he did, he tried to remind himself viciously.

"So he's coming around," Peter murmured, taking a few steps forward and tracing a gentle finger along his daughter's tiny shell of an ear.

Claire just shrugged and tightened her hold on Sandra. "I guess so," she said quietly.

"Claire, I'm not angry," Peter said, looking down at her. He cupped Sandra's head, watched as she curled a tiny fist against her mother's breast. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the baby's hand, then brought his head up and landed a kiss on Claire's lips.

She let him kiss her softly for the briefest of moments, then turned her head.

"I know you don't hate me or Sandy, Peter," she said. "So you don't have to pretend like everything is okay. I know you're just mad at yourself."

Peter let out a slightly strangled laugh and moved away. He leaned against the wall as he watched Claire sit herself down. Then, to his surprise, Claire kept talking.

"I think Sylar's finally outgrown himself. It just took the end of the world…" She laughed softly. "This whole thing is insane. I know we could've waited, Peter. Could have waited to start repopulation until we'd figured out cloning and genetics. We're both intelligent people. And Sylar…the way he is now, he would've come around eventually. If we'd just opened shop in New York…" Her voice trailed off for a minute and that soft sucking noise continued to float about them.

Peter wondered if Sylar found the whole thing as much of a turn on as he did. Claire started talking again and he refocused on her, with some effort.

"It was always some excuse. We both wanted this. We always did. What did we tell ourselves, Peter? That it wouldn't matter when everyone else was gone? But it does. It still fucking matters. And now we've got a baby and we've got to try and raise her so she doesn't follow our footsteps…while still wanting to be with each other. We're sick, Peter."

She finally looked up at him and he offered her a small smile.

"I know." But there was understanding in his eyes. They both knew they were sick and they accepted it and loved each other anyway. Even if one of them wasn't sure he could live with it.

"I know you want to leave me someday, Peter," Claire admitted, catching him off guard. His eyes flickered and he stared out the window. The sun was just starting to set over the fields they'd been cultivating for years now.

"I'm not going to leave you, Claire," he replied. "I promised I would stay, didn't I?"

Claire stared at him hard enough to make him turn his head, meet her eyes again and he flinched, but didn't look away. She finally broke the gaze as Sandy decided she'd had enough. She put herself back together and then put the baby against her shoulder.

Peter continued to eye her with frustration.

"Claire, you have to believe me sometime. Maybe I wouldn't hate myself as much if you actually trusted me for once."

"I'm sorry, Peter," she replied quickly, "but when you always look at me that way- like you're not sure you're going to see me the next day, like it's the last time either of us are going to be alive, how am I supposed to act?"

Peter made and angry motion and stalked over to her. He leaned over her, putting his hands on the arm rests to either side of her.

"I look at you that way because I'm in love with you, Claire," he ground out. "And if you've never realized that you're either really dumb or blind."

She was silent for a whole two seconds.

"Well excuse me for not knowing what it feels like to have a man look at you when he's in love with you."

"Well now you know," Peter shot back. He started to lean further forward when Sandy let out a set of small burps. He looked down at her in consternation, pulled her from Claire's yielding arms, and efficiently set her in her crib with a mobile occupying her attention. Then he turned back to Claire, who was staring at him with her mouth open in a small "oh."

Peter walked back over to her, tossed the towel on her shoulder to the ground and then hauled her up to him by the arms. He kissed her solidly on the mouth, without an apology and it was nothing like the tentative steps they'd taken to one another just over a year ago. Claire gave in.

Oh, did she give in. Especially when he was wrapping his arms around her that way, pulling her closer, his mouth trailing from hers down her jaw, along her neck. She sighed and relaxed against him.

"Peter," she whispered and he lifted his head and looked at her, his own eyes glazed with desire.

"Claire," he replied softly, "I want you."

"I thought we agreed, once Sylar came on…"

"I know what we agreed," he said, then kissed her again. She smiled against his mouth- it was so familiar to her now, she had to wonder why she'd taken so long to accept it. His soft lips, plying hers, asking for love, forgiveness, acceptance. That connection had been there a long time, even without the physical meeting, and yet they'd put one another off. Why?

Oh, right. He was her uncle. She pulled away some.

"Then don't make this any more complicated than it already is." When Peter didn't let her go right away, she put both hands on his chest, kissed him again softly. "Please."

He let her go reluctantly, as if he knew their time together was limited. As if he knew she was Sylar's now, was supposed to be Sylar's. And he'd agreed to all of it, stupid man that he was, knowing that he wouldn't be able to live seeing her be with the other man. Yet every second Sylar took to decide to be with Claire- to just put everything behind them and take her the way he wanted to- was a second Peter wasn't sure he would be able to give her up. He'd played house with her blissfully for decades now- and shared her bed, no matter how rocky that had been at first, for nearly two years. And she expected him to just give her up?

He'd rather die. He would die, when it came down to it. Maybe she hadn't realized before how much he loved her, but he was certain she knew now. Now that he'd told her, face to face, what his long sighs and hunched shoulders meant. And as he watched her pull on a sweater and pad from the room, leaving him with his daughter, he knew this arrangement would be the death of him. Sandy made some gurgling sounds and he turned to the crib and reached down, picking up the bundle. She waved her tiny fists at him and he smiled at her.

"Looks like it's you and me for now, Princess. Hey, don't be mad at your mom for leaving right now. She just can't stand being around me cause it means she won't want to be around your Uncle Sylar. And she has to be around him or else you won't have anyone to be with except-" Sandy spit up some and Peter wrinkled his nose, then laughed as he cleaned her up and stared at his shirt in consternation. "Yeah," he responded, looking back up at her, "I agree."

He bounced the baby up and down a bit and turned back to the window. The tips of the corn glowed white and red in the dying sunlight.

* * *

**AN: Aw, poor, wussy, emo Peter. *cuddles him* **


End file.
